Getting Through
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Bedside confessions were usually made with the clear understanding that the recipient didn't really hear and wouldn't remember.


**Getting Through**  
**K Hanna Korossy**

Dark

Noise

Dark

Pain pain pain

Scream

Dark

Danger

Hurt

Falling

Pressure

Sam. Sam's voice.

_There _were his eyes.

"Thank God."

LIGHT

Lost

Sam. Sam's voice.

"Hey."

Darkness

Sam.

Confusion

Sam.

Heaviness

"You gon'…wake…now?"

He mouthed two words, and Sam smiled wide.

Then Dean went back to sleep.

00000

He wasn't sure he was even awake at first, the murkiness of danger and pain bleeding seamlessly from dreams into a confusing reality of noises and smells and a bed he didn't recognize.

"…'ammm."

"Here, man." Pressure. His arm. Fingers around his upper arm, squeezing. Sam.

He used that to ground him, try to figure out where the rest of his body was. Everything seemed to be there, but…

"'ead."

"Yeah, you hit your head. You got thrown pretty bad, Dean. They, uh…they weren't sure you were gonna wake up."

Man, his eyelids were heavy. He cracked them open, enough to see Sam. Unshaven. Red eyed. Wavering smile. Yeah, time for big brother to step up.

His hand made it maybe two inches up off the bed before crashing back.

It was retrieved—of course, emo little brother out in full force—and held, pressure against his pulse point.

"Easy. Gonna need to rest up before you can do, you know, anything."

Turned out he could glare just fine.

Of course, then he was asleep again, so that probably didn't come across as badass as he'd intended.

00000

"…'ead?"

"Busted but still there."

"Huh. 'amm?"

"Yeah, I'm here, Dean."

"…'ead?"

"You got hurt but it's gonna be okay."

"Hmm. 'amm?"

"It's me, man." Why did he sound so amused?

"…'ead?"

"It's okay. Go back to sleep, Dean."

He wanted to ask about his head, but okay.

00000

Sam was sleeping. Dean was pretty sure he'd talked to his little brother at some point, but Sam was asleep now, massive frame folded in half to fit the bench built into the wall. Dean blinked at him tiredly, full of questions but unwilling to bother the guy. Sam's hair was greasy, a decent growth of beard covered his face, and the bags under his eyes were epic. Which meant Dean had really screwed the pooch and left Sam alone and scared for days.

"It's been four days and eleven hours."

Castiel. He forgot about Cas, but turning his head toward the other side was a bad, bad idea. Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the nauseating liquid pain, unsurprised when cool fingers on his forehead eased it to an ache.

"Thanks," he said hoarsely.

Cas stood between him and Sam now, off-center so Dean could still see his brother. Sam's mouth hung open, drool collecting on the vinyl cushion beneath him: yeah, he was out. Dean turned his focus to the angel, now that he could focus.

"What happened?"

Cas also looked more grave than usual. "From what Sam tells me, it was a kitsune hunt. One of the tails hit and threw you into a brick wall."

"I don' remember." The blank spot should've worried him, but sounded like maybe he was better off that way. The invisible tail had probably taken him by surprise and he'd hit wrong, bad enough to make Sam look terrible. That memory was probably gone for good. "Sam get it?"

"He did," Castiel said solemnly.

A kitsune. Like Amy. That had to be hard on Sammy. Dean looked at his brother again.

"He couldn't wake you up afterward. The doctors were not hopeful."

His eyes slid back to Cas. "I'm okay," Dean said tiredly. "I'm here."

"Sam brought a talking board in to try to reach you," Cas continued with an intensity unusual even for him. "He said it worked once before."

Dean winced.

"It was finally the First Blade that revived you."

That opened his eyes wide. "What?"

"Sam asked me to retrieve it. Your vitals strengthened as soon as he placed it in your hand."

How could he have forgotten? Even now that Dean thought about it, he could feel the faint heat of the Mark on his arm, the soft pulse that could flare into bloodlust in a moment. The Mark that wouldn't let him die.

He swallowed, and studied Sam's ravaged face with new understanding. As if Sam wouldn't have been scared enough.

"I'm sorry," Cas went on, voice dropping. "I tried to heal you, but my borrowed grace is waning and the brain is…I could fix some of the damage, but you did not awaken."

"S'okay, Cas," Dean murmured, distracted. "Thanks for helping Sam."

"He has not left your side since you were injured."

"I know," Dean whispered. For all the angry words Sam had slung at him after Gadreel, all the stubborn declarations that he was through saving Dean's bacon, his brother had found him, cured his demonness, stuck close by him, and contradicted those vows over and over with his actions. "The moron always forgives me." He blinked heavily, fatigue starting to take over.

Another press of fingers, and new energy cleared his head. It let him see Castiel frowning at him. "That is not what he said."

Dean blinked. "What?"

"When he sat here and talked to you. That is not what he said."

"When I was out?" Dean had done that more times than he wanted to count, sitting at Sam's bedside while he waited for proof of life, some sort of awareness, even a whispered _Jerk_. But… Dean's gut tightened. "Sam said he didn't forgive me?"

His brother stirred at his name, mouth closing, hand patting the couch once before going still again.

Dean looked at Cas again. "What did he say?"

The angel's eyebrows rose. "You want to know…everything?"

Dean hesitated. It was sort of a violation; those bedside confessions were usually made with the clear understanding that the recipient didn't really hear and wouldn't remember. He himself had admitted feelings, doubts, concerns that he would never have said out loud to anyone who was listening, even Sam. He could only guess his brother hadn't realized Castiel heard him.

But…the Gadreel wounds were still fresh. And Dean had nearly killed Sam while he was a Mark-induced demon. He had to know if his brother was still afraid of him, still angry, still not trusting Dean at his back.

"Everything," he said flatly.

Castiel took a seat in the chair by the bed, and Dean couldn't tell if his unease was over Dean's request or this human situation he found himself in. But then Cas opened his mouth, and Dean forgot everything else.

"God, Dean. I am so sorry…"

He should've known angels had photographic memory, or whatever it was called for remembering what they heard. Because Cas was giving it to him verbatim.

In Sam's voice.

Dean had forgotten they could do that, too. It was weird, but it also made it weirdly easier to listen to. He closed his eyes, drinking it in as Sam talked to him without filter or hesitation.

He was sorry about the hunt, because they always took it the blame when the other got hurt. Sorry that it being a kitsune maybe made Sam react a little slower. Sorry he'd had to haul Dean to a hospital.

But it didn't end there. As Cas's voice grew softer, the admissions dug deeper.

Sorry for the things he'd said to Dean in his anger, and for making him feel like he was alone in the world, nothing to lose in getting the Mark.

Sorry he hadn't been able to save him from Metatron.

Sorry he hadn't been able to complete the Trials.

That he hadn't been able to save Bobby, for _Dean_.

That he hadn't found him in Purgatory, that he'd left him alone when Sam dove into the Cage, that he'd listened to Ruby and let out Lucifer, that he hadn't been able to stop Dean from going to Hell.

It was a parade of Sam's worst moments, the things he said he'd confessed before starting the last Trial. Dean had been worried Sam was still mad at him, but apparently all Sam felt was guilt.

When Sam—Cas—finally tapered off, Dean took a moment to steady his voice, then ground out, "Thanks. I'm, uh, just gonna sleep now."

The angel took that for the dismissal it was. Dean waited until he heard the door shut before he took a shuddering breath and wiped away the moisture that had gathered under his tightly shut eyes.

Then he lay there, staring at Sam, until he did finally knuckle under to sleep.

00000

When he opened his eyes again, Sam was back in the chair, bowed forward and rubbing his eyes with both hands.

"Hey."

Sam's hands fell away, and his smile de-aged him by a decade. "Hey. How're you feeling?"

"Awesome."

The grin softened into affection. "I'll bet. You want me to get you a greasy hamburger and chili-cheese fries?"

He swallowed several times at that, probably looking as queasy as he felt, from Sam's contrite expression.

"We'll break you out tomorrow, all right?"

"Yeah." Dean didn't particularly want to move, but catheters were just evil and they had an actual home to go to now, with a bed that remembered him. "Uh…where are we?"

A flicker of concern, but not like Sam didn't know he still had gaps. "Omaha. Couple of hours from Lebanon."

"Huh." Last thing Dean remembered for sure, in fact, was over a week before. On the way home, he'd have to pry from his brother what he'd missed. "Wan' a pillow for the trip. Firm one, not this hospital crap."

"Okay." Again with the fondness. Dean could've probably asked for a candy store right now and Sam would've managed to get him one.

"And coffee. Like, a keg of coffee."

"Yeah, we'll see."

Dean grumbled at the noncommittal response and shifted in bed, breath catching as his brain sloshed up against his skull. "Coffee, bitch."

"Head injury, _jerk._"

The nurse arrived just then, and the argument was dropped as they silently endured the intrusion.

Sam passed the time by offering Dean a cup of water with a straw, and while it wasn't coffee, it was delicious.

"Thanks," Dean said as Sam put the cup down.

"Sure," Sam said with a glance at him. They didn't usually thank each other.

"No," Dean said, staring at Sam squarely. _"Thanks." _

Sam's obvious puzzlement grew.

"Okay, Mr. Shaw, everything looks good," the nurse said cheerfully. "The doctor will be in, in about a half-hour."

Dean nodded, not breaking his gaze.

The door closed, and the furrow in Sam's brow deepened. "Is your head okay?"

"You asked me once to believe in you, remember? And I didn't answer you. Guess I was too scared about you tacklin' the Trials yourself." Dean squirmed a little, never comfortable laying it out on the line like this. But Sam needed words, and Dean needed Sam to be okay. "But I believe in you, man. I do. If I make it through this Mark thing—"

"—when," Sam interrupted tightly.

Dean acknowledged that with a nod. "—it'll be because of you."

Sam gave him that a look that said he was seriously worried about brain damage, but also that he was maybe about to hug him or start crying or any number of things that would make Dean cringe.

"…because you were a good brother and brought me coffee," Dean finished.

Sam sputtered a laugh, still soft but not on the edge of emotion anymore. "Fine. One cup."

Dean settled back to rest his aching head. He could live with that.

**The End**


End file.
